


Fighting Talk

by DrDom



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Fixing series 4, Gen, Series 4, Spoilers for Season 3, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrDom/pseuds/DrDom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Trip finds his life on <i>Enterprise</i> increasingly difficult, help is at hand.</p><p>Friendship-fix for Season 4, set just prior to 'Babel One'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Talk

GO AWAY.

 _Charming_ , thought Malcolm, as the words scrolled on the door console display. Ignoring them, he pressed the buzzer again.

COMPUTER, TELL WHOEVER THE HELL THAT IS TO TAKE A REAL LONG HIKE BEORE I BUST THEIR A– 

Malcolm hit the intercom button. “Commander Tucker, this is Lieutenant Reed.”

No reply. Which was, at least, an improvement.

The door shot open. Trip, half-dressed and bleary-eyed, glowered at him.

“I’m not in the mood, Malcolm.” He reached for the door control.

“I’m not here for a chat, Commander.” Malcolm stepped swiftly into the darkened room. He held up a PADD. “I’m here because you’re overdue on your manual combat assessment.”

Trip stared at him blankly. Malcolm took in the shadows under his eyes, and the dull stare that seemed to come from a long way away. They’d both come off duty as usual a couple of hours ago, but Trip somehow managed to look like he hadn’t seen another person in days.

Malcolm's tone was brisk. “You need to keep your Away Mission certification up to date.”

“I know that, Malcolm.”

“Come on then, no time like the present. The gym’s free, we’ll do the assessment now.”

Trip looked like he was about to object, and then shrugged. “Why not.”

Malcolm carefully didn’t show his relief. Every suggestion he’d made in the last two weeks for getting Trip to do anything – including watching Malcolm's recently-acquired copy of the latest big zombie film – had been shot down. He’d been more than half expecting a flat refusal to be assessed this evening. Which would have meant going to the Captain, and more questions asked than Malcolm wanted to answer right now.

He waited while Trip pushed his way into a t-shirt and stamped on a pair of trainers without bothering with socks. With the Commander now at least minimally presentable, they made their way to the gym.

As the big double doors slammed shut behind them, Malcolm felt himself breathe more easily. He had taken the precaution of booking the area with his personal code – the one his Armory crew described as 'herein intrude at your peril'. They would not be disturbed.

“You know the drill: standard combat assessment,” he said. “I’ll call the moves, you execute them. Same as last time.”

“Whatever.” Trip’s voice was flat.

Malcolm watched him closely as he stretched. If it didn't tally so well with Trip's recent avoiding of him, he could almost start disbelieving the reports he’d had about his behaviour lately. Of necessity, the Armory and Engineering crews worked closely together, and most of the time their subordinates kept their opinions of the senior officers safely to themselves. This morning, however, Malcolm had walked into the Armory to find a council of war taking place among the torpedo racks. A missed coolant inspection in Engineering had triggered a dressing-down from Trip that left Crewman Anders in tears and Lieutenants Hess and Kelby swearing revenge, if not outright mutiny, against their chief. All this recounted to the breathless attention of their Armory counterparts.

Malcolm had swiftly dismissed everyone to their proper duty stations. He was not, however, immune to the various pointed looks shot in his direction, nor Anna Hess’s _sotto-voce_ declaration as she left the Armory that _someone_ needed to do something before ‘that short-tempered son of a bitch’ found himself stuffed into his own intermix chamber.

Malcolm shook the thoughts out of his head as Trip finished stretching and moved grudgingly into the middle of the gym. He brought his hands up into a defensive position, watching the other man reflexively – if slowly – follow suit.

“We’ll start with some basic jabs,” Malcolm said. “Left first.”

Trip’s stance was flat, his shoulders down. Malcolm had no difficulty deflecting the punch that had about half his power and a quarter of Trip’s mind behind it.

“Now we’ll do that properly.”

“You mean ‘do it again, only less shit’,” Trip said, sarcastically.

“If you like, Commander.”

Trip muttered something inaudible, and the jab came lower this time. Malcolm moved to intercept the blow.

“Other arm.”

Trip shifted his weight, and Malcolm could see the alertness start to come back into his eyes. They worked through the basic moves, the exercise seeming to invigorate Trip. As Malcolm slapped aside a particularly wild cross, though, he had to restrain himself from his usual strictures on control and focus.

 _Time to step it up_. They broke apart. “Free combinations. Try to get past my guard.”

Trip rolled his eyes but resignedly took up his position. “We both know it's _my_ guard you're gonna get past here.”

Eyes narrowing, Trip swung his arm up in a hook that left his entire side exposed. Malcolm ignored the opening, blocked, then seemed to stumble slightly. Trip’s follow-up jab, meant only to distract, hit him squarely on the jaw.

“You OK?” Trip asked, concerned.

Malcolm shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m fine.”

They began to circle again, Trip sending out exploratory jabs and Malcolm side-stepping. Emboldened, Trip threw out a quick pair of punches to Malcolm’s body which he knocked aside, then Trip swung upwards. Malcolm’s belated block only served to deflect the blow onto his own cheekbone.

“Hell, Malcolm –” 

Given the feel of his face, Malcolm suspected that there was a very visible contusion. “Come on.”

Trip gave him half a grin as they began circling again. “Don’t think I’ve ever been two hits up on you before.”

Malcolm gave only a brief shrug, concentrating on Trip’s hands. A new series of punches were again blocked only at the last minute, Malcolm seeming unable to take advantage of any of the frequent openings Trip left in his defences. 

Trip’s brow creased in puzzlement as he moved into the first, basic, sequence that Malcolm taught everyone, jabs to the body followed by a right cross.

The punch hit Malcolm on the side of the nose and sent him spinning.

“Damn!”

Malcolm’s nose was hurting. Definitely not broken, but the sharp taste of blood trickled down into his mouth. He wiped the worst away.

“What's with all the blocking?” Trip was staring at him. “You’re the one always tellin’ us attack’s the best form of defence!”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Malcolm resumed his stance.

“Oh no.” Trip backed away, shaking his head. “I ain’t carryin’ on if you won’t at least _try_ to hit back.”

This was it. Malcolm took a deep breath. “You don't seem to have a problem with lashing out at people who don’t hit back.”

There was a moment of complete silence. Then –

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Malcolm kept his voice calm. “Are you going to tell me why your Engineering crew are calling you Dr Jekyll?”

Trip’s eyes went flat. “Back off, Malcolm.”

“Either start talking or keep hitting. We’re not done with the assessment.”

“No way.” Trip held up his hands.

“Then you’ll fail your certification. Are _you_ going to explain to the Captain why you can’t go on away missions?”

Malcolm watched as the realisation that he was trapped dawned on Trip.

“You … _bastard!_ ” Trip lunged forwards, and Malcolm found he was having to defend himself in earnest. 

They dodged around the centre of the gym, Trip moving quickly from one sequence of blows to the next. Malcolm was still determined not to retaliate, but with Trip now thoroughly riled he was finding it increasingly hard to deflect everything.

Trip swung into his body. The necessary two-handed block left Malcolm's upper body exposed. Trip threw a series of punches straight to his head.

The last one landed and split Malcolm's lip.

They broke apart. Malcolm carefully wiped his mouth.

“You're a crazy son of a bitch!” Trip was visibly upset.

Hope flared. “Are we talking or fighting?” Malcolm winced at the unintended cliché. “I mean that as a genuine quest–”

“This isn't a fight!” Trip yelled, his face contorted with anger. “You won't hit back!”

“I –”

“ _You're experimenting on me, too!_ ”

Completely furious, Trip swung, aiming straight for his eye. Malcolm made his decision instantly. He intercepted the fist, grasped Trip's arm, and twisted. 

Trip slammed into the floor with a smack that echoed around the gym and knocked all the breath from his lungs.

Malcolm stood over him. “That's enough. Time to start talking.”

Trip was wheezing and panting, thoroughly winded. Malcolm realised with a jolt that there were tears in amongst the gasps. He didn’t turn away. Instead, he sank to the floor next to Trip and waited.

After a long minute Trip's breathing became calmer. He lay there, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling.

Malcolm remained silent.

Trip's voice when he finally spoke was thick. “All those girls o' yours in San Francisco… Did you ever think they were the real deal, but they just thought you were some kind of … thing? Toy. _Experiment_.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows almost to the roof. “Plenty of times.”

“Not just someone you couldn’t get close to. Someone you …” Trip trailed off.

Malcolm considered his next words carefully. “Yes, that happened.”

Trip gave him a brief glance. Malcolm wiped the blood from his nose again, a large part of him now wishing they were still fighting. Anything would be better than carrying on this line of conversation.

_Here goes nothing._

“It was ten years ago,” Malcolm said. “I was an undergraduate. I met … well, the most beautiful person in the world. We got together. I thought it was always going to be summer. I would have said or done or given anything.”

“Sounds deep.”

“It was. On my part, at least.” Malcolm gave a humourless laugh. “Until I found out about the husband.”

Trip turned towards him. “Jeez, Malcolm …”

“The only explanation I ever got was 'But I wanted to know what it was like to have a _fling_ '.” Malcolm felt the old anger and humiliation hot in his stomach. He couldn't believe he was telling this to another person.

“What was she called?” Trip asked, his voice subdued.

Malcolm said quietly: “His name was Mourad.” He paused. “Not that that matters here.”

There was silence. Trip continued to gaze upwards.

“Who is it?”

Trip shut his eyes, and Malcolm could see him fighting internally. Then he seemed to slump. “T'Pol.”

 _T'Pol_. 

Malcolm tried to contain his relief. The Commander was one of the two people on the ship with whom Trip could have had a relationship without breaking the fraternisation rules; he was not going to have to turn a blind eye to an infraction.

His second, rather more prosaic, thought was: _how on earth did I not notice that?_

And his third thought – 

“Don't you say a word about her butt, y'hear me?”

“Absolutely not.” Malcolm hastily pushed his thoughts back where they belonged. “When?” he asked.

“Last year. Out in the Expanse.” Trip stared up at the ceiling again.

“You were … together?”

“Huh. For all of a few hours.” Trip rubbed a hand over his face. “I really thought … Hell, I don't know _what_ I thought. She drives me nuts but I want to spent the rest of my life with her. And she won't even give me the time of day. I'm pretty stupid, huh?”

Malcolm said slowly: “It sounds like she gave you more than the time of day last year.”

“Yeah, till the next mornin' when it's all 'let's just forget the whole thing'. I get,” – Trip gritted his teeth – “'Thank you for helping me explore human sexuality'. Just like that. So much for me.”

Malcolm sat, silent, as a tear tracked down from Trip's resolutely shut eyes. He felt suddenly utterly helpless. He didn't have any idea what to do. Surely there was someone else who would be better at this?

He looked up. “Does the Captain –”

“This can't go to Jon,” Trip said, quickly. “It'll make her position untenable here. Don't matter what I think, we need her on this ship.”

“We need you, too.”

“ _That_ ain't true. Reckon I'm doing more harm than good stickin' round here. You said my crew were callin' me 'Dr Jekyll'. Bet that isn't the worst of it by a long shot.”

“If you'd just –”

“If I'd just forget this ever happened! If I just forget all about her! Like _that's_ gonna happen when she's right there in front of me. Don't matter how hard I try, she's all I can think about and it's like I'm fittin' in my work with any spare bits of brains I've got and _that_ isn't any way to run a starship engine room. Like this mornin'.”

“I thought your crew missed an inspection?”

“Sure they did! But I –” Trip's eyes were suddenly swimming. “I didn't remind them. I _always_ tell them when it's due. So they forgot, and when I got mad at them …” He covered his face. “Anders said I shoulda told 'em … I _really_ started yellin' at him, then he got all upset … and I couldn't _stop_ shoutin' …”

Malcolm looked at Trip as he lay on his back, arm flung over his face in a futile attempt to hide. Sympathy tugging at Malcolm's heart. Ought he try to comfort him? Should he … _hug_ him? What on earth could he possibly _say_?

Malcolm got a grip on himself. _First things first,_ he thought.

He cleared his throat. “You know, yelling at your crew is hardly earth shattering. We've all done it once.” He paused. “Starfleet would probably be against you using it as a long-term management strategy but …”

Trip have a half-laugh, and wiped his face. Malcolm was heartened to see the tears had stopped. He considered his next question carefully.

“Did … did the Commander really say she was 'exploring human sexuality'?”

“Yeah, thanks Malcolm.”

“No, it's just that it sounds –”

“Vulcan?”

“I was thinking more 'complete rubbish'.”

“Huh?”

“Look, I'm hardly an expert in 'affairs of the heart', but I know a defensive manoeuvre when I see one.” Malcolm shrugged. “You know: let someone past the perimeter, get nervous, push them out and, er, polarise the hull plating.”

Trip sat up slowly. “She's _nervous_ of me?”

Malcolm tried to explain what he meant. “Do you remember what you told me about Vulcan? You said it's all … completely calm. Rational. Nothing out of place. You could eat your dinner off the floor, only if you did they'd give you that _look_ of theirs like you're no better than a single-celled organism. That was the Commander's life, then along came _Enterprise_. She's one of us now but we are _nothing_ like anything she was used to. Especially you.”

“Whaddaya mean, _especially_ me?!”

Malcolm snorted. “She's all rational restraint and unemotional clarity, and you're … not. But also opposites attract, or so I've been told.”

Trip gave Malcolm a look of frank astonishment, then threw up his hands in defeat. “I am _never_ gonna understand.” His shoulders slumped. “And if I'm spending all my time tryin' to figure it out then I won't be doin' my job. What if … what if I miss somethin' because I can't focus? How many people are gonna get hurt because I didn't pay attention?”

Malcolm took a deep breath. This one was harder to fix. “You're worried your performance isn't up to scratch?”

“Too right I am! And I _know_ the regulations, I ought to report myself up the chain of command so they can figure out a way to monitor what I do, but I'm the Chief Engineer! The only command I've got out here is our one an' only First Officer, or else I go to Jon. _That_ ain't happening.”

“There's another option, if you would like,” Malcolm said, slowly. “Officially, yes, you have to go _up_ the chain of command to monitor your performance. But if you really are concerned, we can do this unofficially.”

“Do what?”

“Report to me,” Malcolm suggested, simply. “Tell me what we're looking out for, then give me reports. Once we work out whether there's actually a problem, we can see if it needs to go any further.”

“Malcolm …” Trip shook his head. “I appreciate the offer.”

“It would be completely unofficial. I'm _not_ your C.O..”

“Yeah, I get that.” Trip paused. “I've been thinking recently … there's another way outta this. I can ask for a transfer. _Columbia_ needs people.”

“Oh.” Malcolm looked away. He was surprised by how strongly he didn't want that to happen.

There was a pause.

“Or, y'know, we could try it your way first.”

Malcolm glanced up. Trip was looking at him consideringly. 

Malcolm nodded. “Right, then.”

He got to his feet and held out his hand to Trip. As he hauled him to his feet, Trip gave the first genuine smile that Malcolm had seen from him in a long time.

The smile faded as he stood. “I reckon I owe my people an apology.”

“I suspect they’ll just be thankful to have you back,” Malcolm replied, wiping a hand across his face. His lip had started to bleed again, he noticed.

Trip looked full at Malcolm, taking in the damage to his face. “I … owe you an apology, too.”

“I think you can safely say you were provoked.”

“No, Malcolm, I ain’t goin’ along with that,” Trip said, with energy. “What I did, there at the end, that was _not_ okay.”

“All right, then.” Malcolm became serious. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Then that’s that.”

Trip still looked unhappy. Malcolm hesitated for a second, and then held out his arms. The other man wrapped himself swiftly around his neck. Malcolm patted his shoulder, wondering vaguely how long an American apology hug lasted. It was unexpectedly touching that Trip felt this obviously guilty about punches that Malcolm had both invited and allowed, and which weren’t going to give him much trouble beyond a sore lip and a stuffy nose.

Trip finally broke away, his eyes suspiciously bright. Malcolm decided it was high time they finished up.

“Let's get out of here,” he said. “I don't know about you, but I've had enough for one day.”

Trip visibly pulled himself together. “Yeah. Reckon the official stuff can wait.”

A small smile played on Malcolm's lips as they walked over to the door of the gym. “We do need to work on your right forearm cross. That one was terrible. If your assessment were actually due, I’d fail you on that alone.”

Trip stopped dead. “I – _what?_ ”

“Your certification’s still valid for another three months. Don’t you ever keep track?”

Trip stood, speechless.

Malcolm gave up the unequal struggle with his self-control and laughed. “I'll make it up to you,” he suggested. “ _Shaun of the Dead XXIII_. Lots of zombies. You'll love it.”

The look of indignation on Trip's face began to waver. As Malcolm raised his eyebrows in question, Trip finally broke into a grin.

“You're on.”


End file.
